The Genius Hitter Who Conquered America - Chapter 43

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 43
5 AM the next morning.
South Central LA was quieter at dawn than it was at night.
An unfamiliar neighborhood, unfamiliar air.
Yet my body responded precisely to the time it remembered.
I laced up my sneakers without fail and stepped outside.
‘The first day was such a blur.’
I’d met Mark’s Mother yesterday and briefly talked with his siblings before collapsing into sleep immediately after.
Once my thoughts settled, I jogged through the neighborhood, taking in my surroundings.
The streetlights flickered as if their time had come, and abandoned, weathered cars littered the roads.
Perhaps it was the solitude that granted me this clarity.
What captured my widened gaze was the landscape of the houses themselves.
As if by agreement, every window and entrance was reinforced with thick iron bars.
Were they meant to keep someone out?
Or to keep the people inside locked in—these desolate iron cages offered no answer.
Graffiti scrawled across every wall, its meaning obscured, silently warned that this was a zone abandoned by law.
‘Hmm… even Korea’s poorest neighborhoods don’t seem this severe.’
Of course, the overall infrastructure here was superior.
There was no need to climb steep hills that left you breathless.
The roads were wide enough for two cars to pass.
The houses weren’t cramped shanties but actual single-family homes, however dilapidated.
Yet there was a decisive difference.
It was the air itself.
If Korea’s poor neighborhoods simply exuded hardship and poverty,
this place felt like danger lurking, ready to erupt at any moment.
‘Mark grew up in quite a harsh place.’
In a way, that made him even more remarkable.
A genius batter born from such circumstances.
I didn’t know Mark’s past precisely, but at least he must have lived a life as difficult as mine.
After circling the neighborhood, I finished shadow swings and stretching at a nearby park.
At 8 AM, drenched in sweat, I paused as I reached for the front door.
“Hey! Tommy! Your socks don’t match! Put them on again!”
“Oppa, where’s my hair tie? We’re late!”
“Lily! Don’t run with bread in your mouth!”
It was a battlefield.
Children preparing for school and kindergarten darted back and forth through the cramped living room.
In the center of it all, Mark stood wielding a frying pan, shouting at the top of his lungs.
I wiped the sweat from my face and stepped inside.
Mark spotted me and gave an exasperated look.
“…Wow. You’re keeping your routine even today?”
Mark shook his head slowly.
Throughout the season, I’d watched Soo-ho do this relentlessly—warming up from five in the morning without fail.
But our season was over now.
For most players, today would mean sleeping in until the sun was high in the sky.
Soo-ho gave a light shrug.
“It’s just habit. If I don’t, my body feels stiff.”
“That’s dedication. Anyway, you’ll shower and come eat, right? I didn’t prepare much, but—”
“Of course. It smells amazing.”
When Soo-ho emerged from the shower, the chaotic breakfast preparations had settled somewhat.
Five of us—Mark, Soo-ho, and his three younger siblings—huddled around the small round dining table.
Soo-ho glanced around.
Mark’s Mother, who had greeted me warmly yesterday, was nowhere to be seen.
Mark casually spooned scrambled eggs onto a plate as he spoke.
“Looking for Mom? She’s at work. She left before dawn.”
“Oh…”
“Don’t worry about it. Eat comfortably. Really, there isn’t much.”
The spread on the table was modest.
Dry, mass-produced white bread toasted until crispy.
The cheapest cereal brand from the supermarket.
Thinly sliced budget ham and a small portion of scrambled eggs.
A typical American working-class breakfast.
In truth, the menu barely differed from the peanut butter bread or cereal we’d eaten at the Minor League Dormitory.
Then and now, the food was less about nutrition and more about fuel to fill the stomach.
‘But it feels different somehow.’
At the dormitory, mealtimes were staggered.
‘Mark always woke up late and ate in a rush, and Casey never even left his room—we could barely manage to eat together.’
On rare occasions when we ate together, everyone had earbuds in or was glued to their phones, mechanically shoving food down their throats.
So meals were always lonely and hollow, eaten alone. But now—
“Hyung, give me more ham.”
“Hey, Tommy. Don’t steal from your brother. He needs to take care of himself.”
“Tch, he’s already gotten fat.”
It was loud and lively.
Plates clinked, voices overlapped.
I took a bite of the toast set before me.
It was dry and cheap bread that caught in my throat.
Yet somehow, it went down smoother than any delicacy ever could.
Midway through the meal, Lily, the youngest, suddenly spoke between chews.
“Hyung. I need supplies for kindergarten.”
“Huh? What kind?”
“Colored pencils. I used them all up. And Jenny said she needs money too.”
Jenny’s hands froze mid-tear of her bread.
Her face flushed crimson in an instant.
“Hey! Lily! Can’t you keep quiet? When did I ever—”
“You were about to tell Mom yesterday. About the school trip.”
“No, no! I’m not going! I don’t need to! I’ll figure it out myself!”
Jenny tried to cover Lily’s mouth, but it was already too late.
Children from poor families grow up fast.
They instinctively understand that when money comes up, their parents—or older siblings—become uncomfortable.
And now there was a stranger sitting at the table.
Jenny hung her head in shame and embarrassment.
The moment the atmosphere threatened to collapse entirely.
“Hahaha!”
Mark burst into hearty laughter that made the dining table shake.
“You two! With a guest here, you’re not going to save my face? You’re bringing up such embarrassing things at the dinner table?”
Mark wore a stern expression, but the smile playing at his lips never wavered.
Instead of showing shame about lacking money or appearing tight-fisted.
He invoked his own dignity to lighten the mood and glide past the awkwardness.
Soo-ho matched his rhythm perfectly.
He set down his fork and plugged both his index fingers into his ears.
“Ah! I can’t hear anything. I didn’t hear a thing.”
Soo-ho had grown up in the Orphanage, so this was a familiar way to handle such moments.
At his shameless act, the tense Jenny burst into laughter.
Lily’s eyes widened as she pointed at Soo-ho.
“That oppa is so kind. He covered his ears for me.”
“Right? You’ve made a good friend.”
Jenny added with a relieved smile.
The one most surprised was Mark.
‘Is this guy actually crazy?’
In a good way.
This had to be uncomfortable for Soo-ho.
‘No, it must definitely be uncomfortable.’
After all, I invited him here as my guest.
I felt like I wasn’t treating him properly at all.
‘This wasn’t how I planned it….’
I wanted to treat Soo-ho like royalty.
I just hadn’t anticipated such variables with my younger siblings being so young, but Soo-ho’s quick wit had carried us through.
Thanks to him, the atmosphere at the table became much brighter.
‘That’s right. There’s a reason he’s not just any magician.’
So then….
Shouldn’t I be able to open up completely to Soo-ho?
After the children finished their meal and departed for school and kindergarten, silence settled over the house once more.
When Mark moved to clear the dishes, Soo-ho stepped in to block him.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“A guest doesn’t do the dishes. Leave it.”
“I need to earn my keep. Besides, you worked hard cooking.”
Soo-ho pushed Mark aside and pulled on rubber gloves.
Even as a guest, this was nothing—barely any effort at all.
No, rather, I considered this a matter of courtesy.
I held an unwavering belief that I would never deviate from proper etiquette.
Mark leaned against the kitchen sink, feigning defeat.
Between the clinking of dishes, Mark spoke up.
“Want some coffee? The taste is incomparable when you enjoy it with the best view around.”
“You know I don’t drink coffee.”
I answered while concentrating on the dishes.
Mark clicked his tongue in exasperation.
“You really manage your body obsessively. Hey! Major Leaguers smoke! They drink coffee too! Some of them are monsters who even drink alcohol the night before games! You’re not a Puritan or anything.”
“That’s because those guys are natural talents. I have to work for it.”
Mark was at a loss for words.
It was because of Soo-ho’s implication that he wasn’t naturally talented.
‘If you’re not naturally talented… where in this world would natural talent exist?’
Mark had never encountered a player with talent as exceptional as Soo-ho’s.
Even across this vast American continent, Soo-ho’s talent was utterly unique.
But by now, Mark had grown quite accustomed to Soo-ho.
“Well, if you won’t listen to reason… how about juice then?”
“I’ll gratefully accept if you offer it.”
“Okay. I’ll set it up. Come outside when you’re done with the dishes.”
Mark hummed cheerfully as he retrieved orange juice from the refrigerator and headed toward the backyard.
I rinsed the plates under running water while gazing out the window.
Mark’s silhouette unfolding an old camping chair.
He seemed like Superman in front of his siblings, but alone, his back somehow appeared smaller.
After placing the final plate on the drying rack and wiping my wet hands, I stepped outside.
In the shaded corner of the backyard sat
two weathered camping chairs with peeling paint and an overturned green plastic milk crate serving as a table.
Upon it, two glasses of orange juice with floating ice were glistening with condensation.
As I settled into the creaking chair, Mark gestured with his chin toward the wall beyond.
“How’s that? Killer view, right?”
Where my gaze fell, there was no Hollywood sign, no azure ocean.
Instead, tangled power lines carved through the sky like a spider’s web,
and a desolate residential neighborhood stretched out with the endless wail of sirens echoing in the distance.
Yet somehow, it felt peaceful.
It was the raw, visceral vitality that only the crucible of a harsh life could offer.
“It’s a landscape I’ve never seen before. I mean it in a good way—it’s unique.”
“You know, I’ve never heard you say anything negative.”
Mark chuckled softly and handed me the juice glass sitting atop the plastic box.
“So, what do you think of being here?”
“What do I think? I’m grateful.”
As I accepted the juice and drank it down refreshingly, Mark let out a hollow laugh as if exasperated.
“Grateful? I’m sorry for dragging you here to suffer. The cramped house, the kids being loud, money troubles everywhere.”
“I don’t see it as suffering. Honestly, I’m having fun. It brings back old memories.”
It wasn’t empty flattery.
I was an orphan, but I hadn’t been entirely alone.
I had memories from my childhood at the Orphanage, living noisily alongside younger children just like this.
Though our blood wasn’t shared, I felt that same warmth here—the warmth of filling each other’s voids.
Mark found no pretense in my expression.
He felt ashamed showing me his humble reality.
Yet relief washed over him—a sense that this friend would understand.
Mark fidgeted with the empty glass and carefully opened his mouth.
“By any chance… are you curious? About my life?”
I nodded without hesitation.
“Of course.”
The reason was clear.
If Mark hadn’t existed.
Could I have remained in this American land?
No, I couldn’t have.
Mark had treated me as a friend from the start in this foreign land, without prejudice.
He always stood by my side and provided me with information.
Thanks to him, I was able to settle safely into the Dodgers Affiliate Team.
During the short season, I achieved my best results and even earned the opportunity to join the Arizona Fall League.
Therefore, Mark was far more than a mere teammate to me.
He was my benefactor who opened the second act of my baseball life, and a partner I could trust with my back.
‘So of course I’m curious.’
I leaned back deeply into my chair, waiting for Mark’s next words.
Now, at last, it was time to truly know the man Mark Williams.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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